Winging It
by Grace157
Summary: When Castiel's wings won't disappear, fighting demons with the Winchesters becomes a whole lot more difficult. Sam might say they're nothing to be ashamed of, but being an angel doesn't count for much when you keep getting stuck in doorways...
1. Cursed

_Author's Note: Castiel's wings are sadly underused in the show, and I haven't read many fluffy stories involving them so here's a short series of silly Cas figuring out how to cope with them. This is my first Supernatural fic and I am a lowly Britlander so forgive me if there are glaring errors with speech and things._

* * *

It was Sam who first noticed that something was wrong.

After a week-long chase down rocky country roads, the three of them had finally vanquished a witch that had been dishing out curses like candy. Dean had pulled up at the first diner they spotted and now they were taking a well-earned breakfast. The place was a little run-down, with hinges that creaked and paint that was cracked in places, but it was friendly, it had food, and most importantly it was free of demons.

As they were queuing up to order, Castiel had proclaimed he wasn't hungry as usual and wandered off. Neither of them had given him much notice, too distracted by their grumbling stomachs to care about much else. It wasn't unusual for him to wander off- human things like food aren't particularly interesting to angels - though when they'd finally sat down in a booth by the window and he hadn't shown up, Sam found himself glancing around the busy diner. Was it possible that there were demons here? Had Castiel managed to get himself in trouble?

Just as he was starting to worry, Sam spotted him at the far end of the room. He emerged from the restroom of all places, face set in his default serious expression. Sam waved and he nodded curtly, trench coat flapping at his ankles as he made his way over to them.

Dean hadn't even noticed Castiel had been missing, too busy devouring a large helping of apple pie. He offered a muffled greeting, causing crumbs to scatter onto the table, then went straight back to his breakfast. Castiel gingerly sat down beside him, perched on the edge of the seat like a bird poised to fly. He folded his arms close against his body as though cold, though of course he couldn't be. His blue eyes stared at the salt shaker in the middle of the table with an intensity that suggested he was trying to hypnotise it.

Sam studied his expression thoughtfully from across the table. You could never tell what Cas was thinking, but he decided there were definitely some extra creases in his forehead today. Perhaps he was thinking about the witch they'd taken out- or the angels that were still out to get him. It wasn't as if the guy had nothing to worry about. But he was pursing his lips in the way he did when deep in thought, so Sam didn't interrupt. Instead, he tucked into his own breakfast: a wobbling stack of pancakes complete with handfuls of strawberries and bananas and a tooth-achingly generous swirl of maple syrup. The last thing he'd eaten was a cold tin of beans he'd chugged in the Impala as they sped away from the witch, and that was almost twenty-four hours ago. Real, warm food was utter heaven after a week of canned food and dried noodles.

Ten enjoyable minutes later, Sam leaned back in his seat feeling fuller than he had done in days. The diner was a little less crowded now lunch hour was over, the noisy chatter dimmed to a cheerful murmur. He sighed happily.

In front of him, his brother was polishing off the remains of his second helping of apple pie with no less gusto than when he'd started. Castiel hadn't moved a muscle for the last ten minutes, still folding his arms with a look of intense concentration on his face. Maybe it was time to say something.

'Um, Cas, are you okay?'

Castiel blinked slowly and looked up at him. 'Yes. I am fine, thank you Sam.' He shifted slightly in his seat but said nothing more.

'Right.' Dean wiped his mouth with a napkin, screwed it up into a ball and tossed it onto his empty plate. 'You guys ready to hit the road?'

The thought of getting back in the car didn't exactly fill Sam with joy, but of course they had places to be. At least now the threat was over they could have conversations that didn't end with them snapping at each other. Dean insisted on playing his rock CDs now the chase was off, so in joking protest Sam sat in the back with Castiel. Before long they were laughing and teasing each other as they always did, relieved to have the heat off their backs for the time being. Castiel was usually quiet when they were travelling, but today he was silent. Every so often he would fidget with his seat belt, a definite frown crossing his face.

'Ants in your pants, Cas?' called Dean from the driver's seat when this happened for the fourth or fifth time.

'I-' Castiel's eyes widened slightly and he began clawing at the belt again, this time with definite urgency. 'I need to-' He pressed the button to release the seat belt, and then blackness exploded inside the car with a loud _whumph, _accompanied by the sound of tearing fabric. Sam was thrown back in his seat, pressed down so hard he could barely breathe.

'Holy shit!' Dean bellowed, and the car swerved dangerously from side to side, eventually skidding to a stop at the side of the road. The CD player was switched off, leaving a ringing silence. 'What the hell happened?'

'Don't look at me, I didn't do anything!' Sam fumbled in front of him and pushed against the weight that was pinning him down. It was warm, like a living thing, and when he managed to free his head and shoulders he found his fingers slipping on feathers.

'Sorry.' Beside him, Castiel looked... sheepish. 'I couldn't help it.' He was pressed up against the back of the driver's seat, cheek squashed against the headrest. The back of his trench coat was in tatters, and from the mess of fabric two enormous black wings had burst free.

'What _was_ that?' Dean leaned into view and took in the sight of the two of them squashed in the back.

Castiel attempted to look up at him, but his wings filled the roomy Impala and left him with no space to move, so he remained squished against the seat and spoke to Sam instead. 'I may have been... cursed by the witch, just before you vanquished her. My wings won't disappear.'

'What, these are your wings?' Dean raised his eyebrows. 'I thought they were supposed to be invisible or something.'

'They don't normally exist on this plane. They shouldn't be here,' he insisted.

'Why didn't you tell us this before?' asked Sam.

Castiel closed his eyes. 'I'd hoped they would revert when the witch was gone. I was wrong.'

Dean rolled his eyes and leant back in his seat. 'Well, thanks for letting us know, Cas. We've really gotta work on your communication skills. How am I supposed to drive like this?'

Sam looked down at the wing that was still pressed against him and blocking most of the window. They were black like a raven's, with blue and green tints where the sunlight touched them. It wasn't what he'd imagined an angel's wings would look like. Intrigued, he reached out and prodded at it. The wing flicked up reflexively and whacked him in the face, earning him a mouthful of feathers for his trouble.

'There's nothing I can do Dean, this has never happened before,' Castiel snapped, reaching for the wing nearest Sam and pulling it against his body like a cloak. 'I had cramp. I couldn't hold them in any longer.'

'Well, you're gonna have to hold them there, 'cause unless you can make them invisible again I can't drive when an angel's wings are blocking my mirrors.'

With evident difficulty, Castiel pulled the feathery appendages into reach. They were enormous, though it was difficult to be sure of their size in here. Sam supposed he should have guessed that as an angel Castiel would have wings, though in the paintings they were usually white and fluffy. These wings were as black as tar, and they glistened like oil in the sunlight.

Sam brushed his clothes down and cleared his throat awkwardly.

Castiel made an attempt to re-fasten his seatbelt over his wings, gave up and resumed glaring out of the window.

Dean sighed and started up the engine again. 'This is going to be a long day.'


	2. Winded

It soon became apparent that having a wingspan twice your height was extremely impractical, especially in the Winchesters' line of work. When they'd been driving for several hours and the curse still hadn't worn off, Dean concluded that the best thing to do was ignore it and hope it would go away.

They stopped off at a small town to get some supplies, having used up nearly everything during their last case, and within two minutes a demon had attacked them. Finally catching the sucker took most of the day, and by the time they walked back to the Impala it was dark. Grey clouds smothered the stars, and the wind churned up litter on the sidewalk like a vengeful spirit; Sam reckoned a storm was on the way.

The Impala was waiting in the middle of an abandoned parking lot. Sam and Dean kept a tight hold on their guns as they walked, ever vigilant in case something else should decide to take advantage of the dark and jump them.

A startled yelp from behind them sent a spike of fear through Sam's heart. He whipped around with his gun readied, heart pounding in his ears.

Castiel had been yanked backwards as if by an invisible hand and was being dragged across the parking lot, wings billowing out behind him like two black sails. He skidded across the parking lot as though he was on skates, arms flailing ungracefully. Sam glanced around urgently but he couldn't see any demons nearby. What was going on?

After a few unsteady paces Castiel regained his footing and attempted to run back towards them, but he seemed to have difficulty gaining ground. Then Dean lowered his gun and laughed, and Sam finally understood. 'You need to get your wings in, Cas!' he yelled over the whistling in their ears. 'You're gonna blow away if this wind picks up any more.'

But Castiel wasn't laughing. He snatched at a flapping wing, but both were out of reach. The next gust of wind was so strong that his feet left the ground by several inches and he was thrown across the parking lot to land with an audible thud at the other side.

Dean's smile vanished instantly and they ran towards him, leaving their guns beside the car. Castiel's teeth were gritted as he attempted to fold his wings in, but they were pulled taut by the wind and he didn't have the strength to retract them.

'This wind is too strong!' he called, fingers scrabbling for a hold on the smooth concrete. The wind still dragged him backwards, reminding Sam of a cat trying to cling to a stretch of carpet.

As they ran towards him, Sam caught sight of a set of high, pointed railings up ahead. They were at shoulder-height, and caked with rust. Castiel had seen them too, and when another strong gust of wind arrived and pulled him away his eyes went wide with panic.

The brothers ran at full pelt towards him. Sam fixed his eyes on Castiel's right wing, which was nearly invisible against the dark sky. If he timed it wrong...

'Now!' shouted Dean and he leapt into empty space, the wind pushing his hair into his eyes. His fingers latched onto a wing joint and he held on with grim determination. Dean grabbed the left wing and did the same.

The three of them continued to hurtle through the air and for one terrible moment it seemed they'd all end up speared on the railings, but then their flight abruptly lost speed and became a vertical dive. They slammed into the ground with bone-juddering force. The worst of Sam's fall was cushioned by the soft wing beneath him, and he grimaced as his unshielded knee scraped along the ground before they came to a stop at the foot of the railings. With nothing to lessen the impact Castiel was knocked down hard, the breath gushing out of him as they hit the ground.

They lay there for a moment, catching their breath. Unable to move with his wings pinned Castiel stared dazedly up at the sky, limbs arranged awkwardly around him. His trench coat was scuffed and dirty, one sleeve torn up to the elbow. A purple bruise was forming on his jaw where he'd fallen the first time, and his fingernails were bleeding where he'd dug them into the concrete. Windswept and wide-eyed, he looked first at Dean then at Sam. 'That was not intentional,' he said.

'Damn right it wasn't,' Dean grunted as the wing he was lying on twitched involuntarily and he dug his knees in to steady it. 'You didn't think to fold them in when we got out here? Our job's hard enough without you being a human kite.'

'It's never been a problem before,' he said patiently, oblivious to the blood trickling down his temple. 'My wings are intended to aid movement between planes, not for physical flying. I was not expecting the wind to affect them.'

'We need to get you out of here.' Dean sat up. 'Sammy, you stay there, I'm gonna fold this one in.'

Castiel rolled onto his side as Dean carefully folded the wing and held it tightly against him like a cloak. 'Now you.'

It was hard to get a good grip on the slippery feathers, but Sam managed to get the other one against him too. Castiel looked as though he was in an enormous black cocoon. 'Right, let's get him to the car.'

Castiel said nothing as they half-carried him over the parking lot and bundled him into the back seat. Sam got into the front with a sigh, brushing his fringe off his face. The knee of his jeans was ripped and the graze beneath was oozing blood. 'Everyone okay?' he asked.

Dean nodded and blew out a breath. 'Yeah, nearly became a human kebab but I'm good.'

Castiel was looking down at his bloodied arm in confusion. 'My wounds won't heal.'

They both turned around to look at him. With his black wings like a blanket around him, Castiel looked very small in the large car. His coat was still torn, the blood from his head now drying in a streak down to his chin. 'It must be the curse,' he explained, wincing as he prodded a graze along his forearm. 'The spell has frozen my grace.'

'You mean your angel juice?' Dean looked serious. 'That's what you use for teleporting and fighting with, right?'

Sam retrieved a packet of tissues from the glove compartment. He took one out to clean his knee with, then tossed the packet to Castiel. 'Yes. I sense that still have it and it is unharmed, but I can't access it.' He stared at the packet in puzzlement, then seemed to realise that he was bleeding, still. 'It is sealed away in a glass box. Until it returns, I can't travel or heal myself. I can't remove my wings.' He looked between them, his blue eyes deadly serious. 'I am... in danger.' The angel's brow wrinkled, and Sam hated to think it but this was one of few times he'd seen him look genuinely worried.

'I think we've ignored this long enough.' Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. 'Clearly, it's not going to go away on its own. What do we do? Who knows the most about this sort of thing?'

In the back, Castiel had twisted around to examine the back of a wing. Some of the feathers glimmered wetly in the dim light. 'Is this what pain feels like?'

Sam took out his cell phone. 'I'll call him.'


	3. Trapped

_Author's Note: Happy New Year! I'm uploading this at two in the morning so some of the words may be a little blurry. It's one year today since I posted my first story on this site, so to celebrate here's the next epic instalment! Mostly fluff, with just a smidgeon of plot. Plot is very important. But mostly fluff._

* * *

'I don't know what you boys came to me for.' Bobby rolled his wheelchair over to the table and deposited another pile of books between them. 'Great to see you and all, but most of what I have is lore. I've never heard of a witch successfully cursing an angel.'

'We didn't know who else to call, Bobby,' Sam sighed, struggling to focus on the page in front of him. They'd been searching for nearly three hours now, and they were still no closer to finding a solution. They had heaps of history, but little that was of any practical use.

'Yeah, the sooner we get him back to normal the better.' Dean closed the book he'd been perusing and added it to the ever-growing pile at his elbow. 'Right now he's not much more than a human with a great big feathery target on his back.'

Stifling a yawn, Sam turned the page. It seemed that angels and witches rarely met throughout history, and whenever they did the angel invariably won. 'What I don't understand is _how_ it happened. Cas may be cut off from Heaven but he's not weak. Something like that should have glanced off him, no problem.'

'Maybe she just got lucky.' Bobby shrugged. 'Can either of you remember the incantation she used?'

Dean shook his head. 'Not all of it, we were kinda busy at the time. If anyone does, then it would be-'

'Dean!' A familiar call echoed through the house. 'Dean, it happened again!'

Sam blinked as he looked up from his page, something akin to snow blindness stinging his eyes.

'For God's sake.' Dean rolled his eyes. 'I am _not_ going up there again, that's three times in the last hour. Let him figure it out for himself.' He returned to scrutinising his book, though his eyes didn't move across the page.

Sam frowned. 'You're gonna just leave him there? Don't you think that's a little cruel, Dean?'

'I'm a hunter, not a freakin' babysitter. If he's going to make a habit of it then he needs to get out on his own.'

The three of them waited in silence, listening. The sound of furious shuffling came from somewhere upstairs. There were a few muffled thumps, followed by a slightly dejected: 'Sam? Are you there?'

With a heavy sigh, Sam got to his feet. At least it gave him an excuse to stretch his legs. Anything was more productive than sifting through more old books. 'I'll go.'

'Thanks.' Dean sat back in his chair and resumed reading. 'Ask if he needs his diaper changing while you're at it.'

Sam shot him an unimpressed look from the doorway which he missed completely, then closed the door before making his way upstairs.

It didn't take long to find him, and when he did it took all of his self-control not to smile. 'Hey, Castiel.'

'Hello, Sam.' Castiel was standing in the doorway to a spare bedroom, looking more than a little frustrated. His wings were crammed into the space between his shoulders and the doorframe, like two huge black balloons that had been inflated until they filled the space. Judging by the shoe lying a small distance away and the wild, ruffled look of his hair, he'd been there a while.

'I got stuck again,' he explained unnecessarily, attempting to gesture with his arms but they were pinned at his sides.

'So just hanging out, then?' he couldn't help saying.

Castiel's blue eyes bore into his. 'It's not funny.'

'No. Sorry.' Sam wrapped his fingers around the nearest wing and gave it an experimental pull, but it refused to budge an inch. He sighed. 'How the hell do you manage this, Cas?'

Castiel hung his head wearily. 'I don't know. It's very frustrating.' He braced himself as Sam gripped his shoulders tightly.

'Ready?'

He nodded.

Sam pushed as hard as he could, adding the force of his body weight when nothing happened. Castiel grimaced, feet skidding on the carpet as he struggled. Then Sam gave him a final shove and he jolted free along with a few chips of wood and paint. Sam caught himself on the edge of the door. Castiel staggered backwards into the room and fell on his backside so hard the window panes rattled. The angel looked calmly up at him as though he'd done nothing more than hold the door open for him. 'Thank you.'

Sam offered him a hand up and hauled him to his feet. 'Dude, all you have to do is go through sideways. It's not difficult.'

'I will try to remember that.' Castiel straightened his coat then cast his eyes about the room. His face fell. 'Now I've lost my shoe.'

Sam was starting to understand what it must have been like for Dean to look after him all these years. With a sigh, he located the shoe on the landing and tossed it to him. 'What were you doing up here, anyway?'

'I needed to think for a while.' He squashed his foot into the shoe in a way that betrayed his inexperience at getting dressed. 'With this curse, I fear it's done more than cut off my grace.' He held up his hands, where his palms had begun to scab over. 'My injuries still haven't healed, and I get cramps if I stay in the same position for too long.'

Sam's heart sank. 'You mean you're-'

'Not human exactly, but I'm close. Too close. If this curse isn't removed soon, I fear I may lose the rest of my abilities.'

'We're working on it,' he promised. 'But we won't get far if you keep distracting everyone. Come and help us research; you know more about this than we do.'

Castiel sighed, but he folded his wings against his back and willingly followed him downstairs.

When they returned to the living room, Bobby and Dean were both peering intently at a page in an old book.

'Any luck?' Sam prompted when neither of them made to acknowledge them.

'Not exactly,' said Bobby. 'You might wanna sit your friend down. Pretty sure he ain't gonna like it.'

Castiel blinked and his wings fanned out absently behind him, dislodging the pile of discarded books. 'Can the curse be lifted?'

'Not sure. But from what Dean could remember of the incantation, the spell itself ain't that complex.'

Sam looked between them. 'So...?'

'So it probably won't be permanent. There's two possible solutions here: one, you kill the witch that performed the spell, break the curse.'

'Already done it,' said Dean. 'Made damn sure of that.'

Sam wandered over, trying to get a good view of the book. 'Option two?'

'You wait for the spell to wear off on its own.'

Castiel frowned. 'How long would that take?'

'Difficult to say without all the details. But an educated guess...' Bobby looked up. 'Two months?'

Castiel pressed his lips together as he processed this information. 'Two months?' he repeated weakly. 'I can't stay like this for two months!' He spread his wings to emphasise his point, and knocked a lamp to the floor. The bulb broke with a tinkling of glass.

Bobby regarded him coolly. 'You're gonna have to. And you can start by keeping your damn wings _folded_.'

Castiel's wings wilted as he sighed.

'C'mon Cas, it'll be fun.' Dean walked over and clapped him heartily on the shoulder. 'Like an angel vacation. Give you a break from hunting for your dad. He can wait for a couple months, right?'

'You're not exactly selling it, Dean,' said Sam pointedly.

'He can tag along with us for a while. Now you can't zap off anywhere your knowledge will come in handy. And you're still a damn good fighter, even if you can't mojo anyone.'

Castiel didn't seem to share his excitement. 'I can't think of any other option right now, so I guess your way is the most logical,' he agreed reluctantly.

'Two months' hunting with a de-mojoed angel.' Dean grinned. 'How hard can it be?'


	4. Weakened

_Author's Note: Apologies for the large gap between chapters, other writing projects crowded in on me and this one was awkward to edit. Next chapter may also be a little while, but after that it's mostly drafted so uploads should speed up a little._

* * *

Sam was a lot more sceptical about Castiel's so-called "angel vacation", but even he didn't anticipate the sheer number of disasters waiting to happen.

The first issue they had was that Castiel's only set of clothes had been ruined when his wings burst out of his back. Without his powers he couldn't mend them so they had to go out and buy some shirts that fit him (Dean's were too baggy around the middle and Sam's sleeves were so long that they slipped over his hands). Castiel quickly figured out that by cutting two vertical slits in the back of them he could wear them without squashing his wings- or giving the locals one more thing to gossip about. The trench coat and jacket were beyond repair for the moment, so in the day he flattened his wings against his back like a cape. But even this arrangement came with its own problems, since after a while they grew cramped, and any lapse in Castiel's concentration caused them to fan out like the wings they were.

Which happened nearly all the time. Castiel was quickly excluded from the FBI disguises, reduced to waiting in the car or checking out the building whilst they were inside. Unfortunately, a police officer spotted him peering through a window and assumed he was a burglar. He patiently explained that he was an angel of the Lord trying to save the town from a demon attack. Naturally he was then arrested for attempted break-in and on suspicion of being on drugs (luckily the wings were mistaken for some obscure fancy-dress). Bailing him out was no picnic, and Castiel looked decidedly sheepish as Sam led him back to the car once the demons had been taken care of. So much for keeping a low profile.

Not to mention the wings were incredibly impractical. Emergency getaways in the Impala became desperate struggles to stuff Castiel into the back without scratching the paintwork; even in a life-or-death situation, Dean still had his priorities. In a fight, you were just as likely to be clipped by a flailing wing as you were to be struck by the enemy. On one occasion Sam was knocked against a wall so hard he blacked out, and Dean was not impressed when they had to drag him out whilst fighting off demons at the same time. Elevators were a challenge, and as for revolving doors... it was a wonder that Castiel still had wings to lose.

Before long Bobby called them in on a big case involving a bunch of vampires that were planning to convert a whole town. Things seemed to be going well until the head vamp jumped them in an alley and Sam was tackled to the ground. Sam was unable to call out as Dean fired round after round at the dark figure- at the other end of the alley. Luckily Castiel had quick reflexes and was able to throw himself clear of the bullets, but he managed to get a shard of glass embedded in his hand in the process.

They drove back to the motel to get him patched up, and although Castiel insisted he was fine, he was visibly shaken when the glass was carefully removed and blood began pulsing out of the wound. For Dean or Sam an injury like this was no biggie, but he wasn't used to enduring pain like this and it showed.

Dean was doing his best to make light of the situation, though it was clear he was feeling more than a little guilty about mistaking him for the vampire. As Sam watched him wind a tight bandage over the wound, he wondered what would have happened if Castiel had been shot. If he couldn't heal, was he human enough to die? Or his vessel, at least? It didn't seem right taking him with them when they didn't know exactly how this curse would affect him. Sam would feel happier if they took Castiel to a place where he could safely wait out the effects of the curse- if indeed it _did_ wear off. He wasn't safe like this, at least until he'd adapted properly to his wings. They couldn't afford to be constantly checking over their shoulders when they had people to save.

They left Castiel in the motel with a pile of lore books to research through and set off to get more supplies (Dean would have gone alone, but Sam wasn't about to endure another night of eating junk food). Sam felt relieved that it was just the two of them for once, then instantly felt guilty. It was like they were weary parents glad to have gotten the kids to bed for the night.

Dean appeared to be feeling the same way. Out of the corner of his eye he watched his brother drum his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove: a familiar sign that something was eating him. Sam braced himself for a long-overdue bitching session.

He didn't have long to wait before Dean let out a long sigh. 'Man, you won't believe the day I've had.'

'Did it involve a pack of bloodthirsty hell-hounds, because I was there, Dean.'

Dean rolled his eyes. 'No, it involved the hot chick who was chatting us up at the diner.'

Sam frowned. 'You mean the one with the really annoying laugh?' It had taken all of his self-control not to wince at her high-pitched giggling, and Castiel had looked positively alarmed when Dean invited her to come and sit with them.

'Hey, true beauty lies beneath.' He paused at a red light, and took the opportunity to flash his little brother a grin. 'If you know what I mean.'

Sam rolled his eyes. 'Dude, if you're about to give me the details, just don't.' It wasn't exactly a secret that the back seat of the Impala had seen more than its fair share of "conquests", but Sam didn't need that mental image when they were out shopping for food.

'It wasn't like we had a lot of time before I had to go meet you and Cas, so we went to the car- I mean, it wasn't as if there was anywhere else to go...'

Sam stared resolutely out of the window, pretending to be very interested in reading the road signs and did his best to tune out Dean's words.

'...and they were_ everywhere._ Just all over the back seat,' Dean finished, opening his arms expansively. 'I nearly had a fit.'

Sam frowned, sensing he'd missed something. 'What?'

Dean shot him a grumpy look. 'Freakin' _angel feathers_. It looked like someone had exploded a chicken on the back seat.'

A smile tugged up the corners of his mouth.

'She said she was allergic to birds and asked if it was my idea of a joke.' Dean scowled. Kinda killed the mood when she started sneezing.'

He laughed. 'Dean, Cas can't help losing a few feathers.'

'It's gross. Is he moulting or something? Do angels moult?' They pulled into the parking lot. 'Someone needs to tell him to preen or something.'

Sam scratched his head. 'He's probably embarrassed enough as it is. Cut the guy some slack Dean, he's having a tougher time than we are.'

Dean killed the engine and they sat in silence for a while. 'I don't know how much more I can take of this, Sammy.' Dean fixed him with a serious stare. 'Two weeks, it's been. Just two weeks. How the hell are we going to survive two months? Assuming it's _going_ to wear off. He's going to get us all killed!'

Sam had nothing to say to that.

'He said he had a headache yesterday. The guy's getting more mortal by the minute. You've seen what he's like now, he can barely dress himself. What's he gonna be like if he goes full-blown human?'

Sam wrinkled his nose. 'I think he'll be pissed, to say the least.'

'If he loses his mojo then I'm not teaching him how to use the bathroom.' Dean thumped his forehead down on the steering wheel and huffed out a sigh. 'Son of a bitch.'


End file.
